


What I've Brought You

by litsasecret



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Bodily Secretions, Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Sibling Incest, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-14
Updated: 2011-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-26 02:18:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/277539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/litsasecret/pseuds/litsasecret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard is the worst big brother in the world. (Written for the kink_bingo square Bodily Secretions.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I've Brought You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inoru_no_hoshi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inoru_no_hoshi/gifts).



> Warnings for sibling incest, tears-kink, and not-so-nice Gerard.

Gerard Way knew he was possibly the worst big brother in the whole entire world.

It was a hard fact to miss, when all the cultural trappings of big brotherhood involved things like kissing skinned knees or being a wingman at bars after awful breakups or going alone into the woods all the time to play baseball with your brother's ghost. Gerard didn't really mesh with that archetype, the protective, supportive, nurturing big brother archetype.

It wasn't that he didn't know when Mikey was upset-- while everyone else on the _planet_ found his baby brother to be a hard read, Gerard could read every quirk of his mouth, every blink of his eye like an open book, like fucking neon billboards at night in Times Square. He wasn't _oblivious_ to when his brother needed him to be a proper big brother, he just--

\--and this is where it got weird, got freaky beyond anything Gerard could define for himself, because it was two parts voyeurism and one part sadism and a lot of things he'd never ever wanted to be and was anyway, but the thing was, when Mikey got upset, Gerard liked to goad him.

Make it worse.

Make him _cry._

It was just as bad with the others; when Frank's smile got all twisty-sharp and obviously fake, his reaction was nowhere near the rest of the band's "Who do we have to kill and how slowly," but more along the lines of "What did they say to you? What did they _do_?" but it was so much easier with them to fake it, to let his eyes glint with assumed bloodlust while they plotted gorily artistic demises for whoever had hurt their bandmate.

He thinks, sometimes, it's that he'd grown up with Mikey. He didn't realize the whole socio-cultural construct of big brotherhood until he'd known Mikey for years and years, until he'd already established a mode of behavior where if Mikey skinned his knee, Gerard would thumb at his tears and press eager fingers against the tender raw edges, hoping for more.

And other times, times like this, he blames Mikey. Because Mikey _knows_ Gerard is a Terrible Big Brother, and he brings him his hurts, his wounds torn open bleeding, his soul wrecked and his psyche barely patched together anyway.

He comes to Gerard in quiet moments, eyes huge and vulnerable, and tells him awful things, and all Gerard can ever offer him is undisguised pleasure in the face of his brother's pain, and that can't be all him, right? Mikey's at least a little responsible. (Unless that's entrenched behavior too. Unless Gerard's trained him to come, Pavlov's dog and saliva isn't tears but he'll take the metaphor anyway, because if there's one thing he's learned as a writer it's that imperfect metaphors will never hurt you but the nightmares they bring might.)

Mikey's in the bunk with him right now, his back pressed up tight against Gerard's chest and his Sidekick clenched tight in his fist, one wrist covered in blood-red lipstick, three cruel words that pierce his skin and his soul and his psyche all at once.

"He hasn't texted back," Mikey explains, and his voice slides thickly from his throat where all the tears are trapped.

"He probably won't," Gerard replies, tone even and dismissive. He can feel the way Mikey tenses up at that, predictable like clockwork, only without the quartz crystal resonating in its electrical field, a faulty clock always returned to a faulty clockmaker, but it's better than being thrown out entirely.

"You're... he..." Mikey gasps a little, swallows down the words, swallows down a sob, and Gerard's not frustrated yet, but he might be soon. "You're probably right."

"He never wanted you in the first place."

Mikey's fist tightens around the phone, and then he relaxes his grip completely so the device falls, bouncing off the thin mattress of the bunk and hitting the carpeted floor with a dull thud.

“I know!" Mikey says, nearly snapping, almost there. "That's not what--"

Mikey takes a deep breath that Gerard feels all the way to his core, then another. "I don't know why I came to you," he whispered, and oh, that raw emotion. The sheer hurt hiding beneath each word, phonemes twisting with a feeling that isn't even really present in Mikey's delivery. Gerard knows it's there though, because how could he not? He put it there; some of it, at least.

"Me either," Gerard replies after a second, because it was a question, and Gerard can't act for his brother, but it means he can't lie to him either.

Mikey jackknifes in the bunk, jerking around and disrupting the blankets and the status quo all at once. He cries out, a tiny, sharp little noise, and Gerard resettles over him so he can see Mikey's face, the way his eyes are red already, the way his lashes are spikey damp with the first of his tears (pre-tears, Gerard thinks, like a taste of what's to come,) and a larger drop edges out of the outer corner of Mikey's eye to streak down his temple and into his hair.

Gerard catches the next one on his thumb, holding it up to analyze dispassionately. He wonders, wildly, how it tastes, and before he can censor the action, he has his thumb pressed to his mouth, his tongue curling over the tip of it, and it's salt and warmth and the taste of his own skin.

He frowns at that, and Mikey is crying harder now, blinking his eyes to try to stop himself since Gerard won't do it for him, won't whisper soft nonsense into his hair, won't lie about how it'll be okay. Gerard bends forward to kiss Mikey's forehead, a parody of brotherly affection, because he is the worst big brother ever, of course, and then moves his lips to the curve of Mikey's cheekbones where a few tears have dared dry, then down to brush his temple which is damp and hot-but-cooling.

He should pull away before he licks his lips. He should, but he should also be telling Mikey that he was too good for that guy, that next month there will be someone new, someone better, someone who won't write goodbye in lipstick on his arm while he's passed out on a picnic table, so-- he tastes salt and warmth and Mikey's skin and it's almost like his but subtly different, sweeter maybe, and Gerard sighs.

Gerard shifts slightly, pulling away from Mikey at some points and pressing closer at others, and he's hard, and it's like something he's just noticing rather than something urgent that he has to figure out how to react to right the fuck now, so he shifts again, pressing a little closer against Mikey's hips, and Mikey's eyes flick open, wide and bloodshot and painfully, erotically confused.

“Gerard," he says, voice a hoarse rasp, all the tears let go now. But it's the content that matters here, not the sound, and his name could mean any number of things, but the way Mikey presses up beneath him is pretty specific.

So they're doing this again.

Worst big brother ever.

Gerard fumbles between them for a zipper, manages to catch Mikey's with the edge of his ring finger, but it's enough to draw it down, and he twists the same finger in under the button, and it pops open.

When Gerard closes his hand around Mikey's cock, he thinks briefly "mine" like he did that first time he held his little brother, a nurse hovering at his shoulder, and every time he's touched his brother since, but the way Mikey reacts to him, pretty bits of surrender flashing across his face until it's his whole body giving in to Gerard, drives the sentiment from his mind.

Mikey makes soft, needy little gasps on his way to orgasm, almost the same noises as when he cries, and that makes Gerard smile and tighten his fingers around Mikey which is a stupid move because it speeds everything up and Mikey comes on a whine, back arched and tense, hips stuttering rhythmlessly, and Gerard just hovers and _looks_ , poised on the brink of _something_.

Mikey opens his eyes, and Gerard looks at him, analyzing, cataloging the emotions he sees warring there. Self-loathing wins out shortly, and Mikey scrubs at his face.

"I can get my own _brother_ to jerk me off, but I can't even convince the guy I've been on my knees for for three months to text me back," he says, harsh whisper rasping along Gerard's senses in a way that evokes the best sort of pain.

"Yeah, well, that's your gift, I guess," Gerard replies.

"Funny, and here I thought it was my affable nature and overwhelming loquacity," Mikey retorts, lips quirking back into his usual smile, and the way he's mocking Gerard is more reassuring than anything.

It's his way of saying thanks, and it makes Gerard's stomach twist a little.

He's the worst big brother in the history of all big brothers, but he's the big brother Mikey got saddled with, and as long as Mikey's okay with that, he thinks he might be too.


End file.
